


The Eternal Flame

by ContreParry



Series: Messere Anders's Murder Mysteries [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: 1920s Thedas, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Crime Solving, Eventual Romance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders hasn't set foot in Kirkwall in years, ever since the love of his life was brutally attacked. But ten years later he's returned to seek out the people responsible and tear them apart. With powerful friends at his side, fierce determination, and an extravagant wardrobe, Anders plans to take the city of Kirkwall and turn it on its head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eternal Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calligraphypenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calligraphypenn/gifts).



> This is a bit of a gift/collaberation with the brilliant calligraphypenn, who also enjoys Miss Fischer's Murder Mysteries. There will be more of this universe eventually, so look forward to it!

It started with murder.  


Kirkwall was a veritable shit hole of a Free Marcher city. It always had been. The city was built on a swamp of corruption, and only slipped further and further into madness as the years passed. That is what happened, when the very foundations of your society was built on slavery of all kinds. No matter what glitz and glamor you revealed to the world, the stench of depravity clung like a sickly sweet perfume. And no one wanted to smell like their great grandmother at her Friday evening Orlesian fete.  
Anders wrinkled his long nose in disgust as the ocean liner approached the Gallows, an ancient island in the bay that greeted all visitors. The island itself was abandoned back in the Dragon Age, but people swore it was haunted by the vengeful ghosts of slaves and mages. Travelers could still spy the ancient Tevinter statues of cowering slaves looming over the bay, greeting all visitors to Kirkwall. The crumbling ruins of the Circle towered over the statues, a grim reminder of the past abuses against mage-kind. Charming, Anders thought grimly as the boat entered the bay and approached the docks. He certainly felt welcome here.  


He jammed his dark blue felt cloche hat on his head and glared at the stone Tower, the physical representation of everything the Circle meant in the past, present, and future. In the past mages were locked away behind wood, stone, and metal. They were always under the all seeing eye of the Chantry, of the Templars, of every non-mage in Thedas. The towers were gone now, replaced by the crowded ghettos of Southern Thedas, where the Chantry and local governments jammed mages and their families together like sardines. There were the Tevinter boarding schools for the more fortunate mages with the money and lineage to get the proper training. The less fortunate mages were sent to Chantry schools, where the greatest concern was teaching mages to fear magic and the Maker.  


Anders was one of those less fortunate mages, until he left Kinloch Preparatory Academy for Mages the night he graduated and ran off to see the world. He traveled up and down the Ferelden countryside, saw the sparkling wonders of Orlais, traversed the tunnels of Orzammar, and now? Now he was returning to Kirkwall. Anders turned his gaze to the docks and stepped away from the railing. There was nothing else to do, then, but to keep pressing onward.  
He descended the ramp with a bit of a skip, the navy skirt of his travel suit shimmying around his calves as he moved. He adjusted his white silk scarf, letting it flutter in the breeze as he navigated the grimy crowds on the docks. He'd have to find a laundress to clean his outfits, he thought sadly as he walked around a puddle of coal-dust dark muddy water. The scarf was pure Rivaini silk and worth more than two years allowance when he was an apprentice at Kinloch Prep!  


“Anders, sweet thing!” A sultry voice called out from the crowd. Anders nearly felt his face split open in a wide grin as he took in the sight of the woman strutting towards him.  


“Isabela!” He called out as he rushed towards the woman, who was wearing a white dress with a hem that barely skimmed her knees, and a revealed more of her bosom than was strictly proper. Her dark skin was freckled from her time in the sun, and her dark curls were tumbling out her ivory hair pins. The kohl around her whiskey gold eyes was slightly smeared, and her long necklaces were tangled around her neck. Even her long, dark blue duster was slightly disheveled, as if she had just tumbled out of bed to meet him and shoved the garment on as an afterthought.  
Anders had never seen a more welcome sight.  


“Don't you look glamorous, you darling man?” Isabela cooed as she looked him over after a long, strong embrace. “Fresh as a sea breeze, even after the journey from Ferelden!”  


“I stayed on deck for most of it. Even two weeks travel in a first class cabin is still stifling!” Anders proclaimed, his hands still on Isabela's shoulders. “And you look as beautiful as you did that day in the Pearl, my pirate queen.”  


“Ten years and you're still a charmer.” Isabela said with a low laugh. She looked behind him and raised a slim, dark eyebrow. “I see you've brought the entourage.” Anders glanced back as a burly man and an equally muscled qunari wrestled with his luggage. They would have to make a second trip to gather the rest, Anders noted. He had at least another steamer trunk full of items.  


“Why travel light? I've even brought you a present.” Anders said with a laugh, looping his arm in Isabela's, as if he were escorting her to an evening party. “Shall I call a taxi? If we hurry we could make it to the hotel in time for brunch.”

-

Brunch was as light and delicious as Anders anticipated. The Ruby Repose Resort was famous for their delightful menu and luxurious suites, which Anders heavily indulged in. He tucked into the asparagus and ham frittata, ate several blueberry scones slathered with clotted cream, and drank his fair share of mimosas. At least Isabela took part in the feasting, Anders thought wryly as he looked over the empty spread of plates on the table before them. The faint scent of the meal lingered in the air.  


Isabela sprawled out on the cream colored chaise longue, sipping on her fourth mimosa. They had both removed their shoes and coats, and Anders took off his hat, silk scarf, and white gloves. It was an intimate, relaxed atmosphere, one that surprised Anders. He hadn't seen Isabela in _years_ , yet they fell back into their usual rhythm without skipping a beat.  


“Bubbly.” Isabela remarked as she inspected her drink. “Would rather drink something stronger. More fortifying.”  


“We'll wait until after a proper lunch to break out the rum and whiskey.” Anders replied as he gazed out the window. From up in Hightown, the Gallows was only a smudge on the horizon, a distant memory now purged. He sipped on his drink, the combined flavors of orange juice and champagne bright on his tongue.  


“Now that you've traveled the world and scandalized every proper society matron with your wanton ways, what do you plan to do in Kirkwall?” Isabela asked lazily. Her gold eyes were sharp though. Assessing. It was a serious question, one that Anders couldn't avoid answering. It didn't stop him from trying though, and he deflected the question with a toss of his head and a broad smirk.  


“Oh, not much.” Anders said lightly as he crossed the room, his navy skirt fluttering as he moved. “I could always cause a scandal or three in Kirkwall. Perhaps I'll moonlight as a mage rights activist. Or I could spend the time to perfect my Remigold.” He set his champagne flute down on the beautifully carved mahogany table, next to all the empty brunch dishes. He no longer felt like drinking.  


“Anders, we both know why you're here. Enough teasing.” Isabela said softly, her warm eyes soft with sympathy. “You can't bring Karl back.”  


“I can find the monster who killed him.” Anders replied. “I can make sure he never touches another mage again.” He felt his face darken. His mouth turned downward as he remembered the last time he was in Kirkwall. How he followed the love of his life to this dark city, and how that city took him away.  


“It's been years, Anders.” Isabela's eyes were terribly sad as she spoke. “You can't let this eat away at you.”  


“It won't eat at me, Isabela.” Anders assured the woman, maneuvering to the chaise and patting Isabela's bare knee. “I'll eat it first.”  


Someone knocked at the door, and Anders scampered over to answer it. He was grateful for the timely distraction from Isabela's terribly sharp perceptive power and discussing the dark, grim past. Anders opened the door. A young elven hotel worker stood before him, his scarlet uniform jacket pressed stiff with starch. His bellhop hat was slightly crooked, and his brightly polished shoes looked too big for his feet. He was little more than a boy, Anders noted.  


“A letter for a Messere Anders, ser!” The elf piped up, handing Anders a thick envelope addressed to him. A red wax seal stamped with a stylized hawk closed the envelope. Anders took the envelope and gave him a smile.  


“Thank you. Wait here for a moment, if you please?” Anders asked politely before trotting to an armchair and tugging his wallet out of his coat. He counted out a few coins from his purse- five coppers and a silver would be enough for a letter, right? He handed the change to the elf, who tipped his hat and grinned before hurrying away. Anders shut the door and hastily opened the letter.  


“Invitations already?” Isabela purred as she propped herself up on the chaise longue. “Aren't you the man about town?”  


“My particular presence has been requested at the home of a Mrs. Leandra Amell for a late afternoon tea today!” Anders said, mildly surprised by the hastiness of the invitation. How did anyone besides Isabela and the hotel manager know he was even around? The mystery disappeared as he continued to read.  


“Oh. Cousin Justice is playing co-host.” Anders said dryly. “ Apparently it's to drum up support for a low-income clinic he's on the board for.”  


“Sounds like something you'd work on.” Isabela remarked. “You mean Kristoff Justice? That big fussy arse?”  


“He's enclosed a note for me.” Anders tugged out a scrap of paper, where Justice's jagged, harsh handwriting dominated the page. “'Your presence is _required_ , Anders.' Lovely.” Anders rolled his eyes.  


“Delightful.” Isabela stretched her arms over her head before dropping her bare feet to the floor and sitting up, her dark hair tumbling in wild curls over her shoulders. “I suppose you must go to that dull party, then.”  


“Not too dull.” Anders said with a wicked smile. “Help me unpack my trunks, and we'll find something that will liven that tea party up!”

-

With Isabela's bawdy advice and Anders's extravagant wardrobe, they pieced together an outfit the rode the line between daring and shocking. Dark colors were strictly for evenings, so Anders chose a pale green silk tea dress the color of apple leaves in early spring. The beading at the neckline was exquisite, with tiny seed pearls sewn into a motif of blooming flowers. Most of the fabric was nearly sheer, so the many layers made Anders feel like he was part of the air itself when he wore it, the uneven hem swishing about his calves and knees like little clouds. The sleeves were sheer, and fluttered at his shoulders like little ruffled butterfly wings. It would be completely appropriate for afternoon tea, if it weren't for the low cut neckline, rather risqué hemline, and the sheer fabric (his modesty was salvaged by the pale green under dress). But it was Orlesian, and all things Orlais was in high fashion in the Free Marches.  


The risk came with the jewelry and his shoes. Anders wore dangling drops of gold in his ears, and a closed toe golden kitten heel for his feet. He briefly considered applying a golden polish to his toes, but Isabela dissuaded him. No one would notice it unless he removed his shoes, after all, and if he removed his shoes, he was certain Cousin Justice would lock him up in some Kirkwall dungeon for indecency.  


“You do want to be invited to more parties, Anders, don't you?” She teased as she handed him his white gloves and his light cream duster. Anders placed a pretty straw garden hat with a green ribbon that matched his dress on his head before twirling for Isabela. She applauded politely as Anders spun, his skirts flaring out in beautiful frothy waves of fabric.  


“As lovely as ever, Anders.” Isabela proclaimed. “I'll help myself to your rum and gigantic bathtub, and wait for you to return. We've much to catch up on, sweet thing.”  


“Of course, Isabela.” Anders replied, giving Isabela a cheeky grin and blowing her a kiss before trotting off to attend the Hawke's afternoon tea.

-

Anders had a talent for arriving a little too late. Even as he hurried down the cobblestone drive of the Hawke estate, Anders realized that the tea party was over before it ever began.  


There was an ambulance parked right outside the house terrace. The symbol painted on the side of the canvas top, Andraste's flaming sword bisecting a Circle torc. The symbol of a Chantry hospital that used mage healers. Anders hurried up stone steps the color of raw umber, his heels clicking loudly with each step. A tiny elven maid with pale blonde hair stood in the doorway, her sensible starched dark gray dress and white apron standing out in stark contrast to the dark crimson doors.  


“Messere Anders, here for Mrs. Leandra Amell's afternoon tea. She's expecting me.” Anders said politely. The maid shook her head, wringing her hands and sniffling slightly. Anders reached into his duster pocket and handed the girl a handkerchief, which she took and dabbed at her eyes and nose.  


“The tea has been canceled, messere.” The maid sniffed, her large, doe-like green eyes red from crying. “Due to a... a sudden tragedy.” As if to further cement her words, two men, a burly qunari fellow and an equally buff human, carried a stretcher down the steps. A stretcher whose occupant was completely covered by a white sheet. The maid turned her head with a gasp. Anders watched the stretcher bearers lift the stretcher and its occupant up and shove it into the back of the ambulance, watched it disappear from view. Anders patted the girl's shoulder.  


“I'll pay my respects to the household and go.” Anders told the girl. “If you would be so kind as to take me to the lady of the house?”  


The maid led him to a charming parlor covered in richly colored Rivani rugs and papered with pretty pale wallpaper. The furniture was some dark, polished wood, and the fabrics were all luxurious, yet comfortable. The entire room screamed of elegance and wealth tastefully applied. The Hawkes were a new family, from what Anders remembered, but they were rather restrained for being nouveau riche. But Leandra Amell... the Amells were an old Kirkwall family. Maybe that explained the décor.  


“Messere Anders here to see you, ma'am.” The maid said with a curtsey. An older woman, stunning and utterly demure in a powder blue tea dress, nodded politely. Her steel grey hair was properly curled and put up in a low bun. Her jewelry was understated but clearly expensive. But it was her eyes, those electric, lyrium blue eyes, that told Anders that Leandra Amell was a woman who weathered more serious storms than dead bodies in her household, and she would manage this disturbance without so much as smearing her petal pink lipstick.  


“Thank you, Orana. If you could send in some tea? I think we all need to settle our nerves.” Leandra said calmly, her accent clearly betraying her Kirkwall connections. “Messere Anders, I am delighted to make your acquaintance, despite the poor circumstances. Kristoff has told us all so much about you.” Leandra stood up from her seat, a daintily carved sofa upholstered with a crimson brocade fabric, and offered her hand to Anders. Anders took it and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles.  


“Only good things, I hope.” Anders said politely, with a bit of a smile. Leandra lifted one perfectly groomed eyebrow, but there was a faint smile in her eyes.  


“They were positive, Anders.” A low voice boomed through the parlor. “We discussed your healing.” It was a familiar voice, one Anders knew well from his days as a Grey Warden, before he left and traveled across Thedas after the Blight.  


“Oh. Cousin Justice.” Anders sighed and turned to greet his cousin. “How are you?”  


“You did not inform me you were planning to return to Kirkwall.” Justice said with a frown, his brow furrowing in a mix of stern disapproval and confusion. “I received the information from Warden Cousland.”  


Looking at Kristoff Justice was like looking into a mirror, Anders thought distantly. A mirror that made his form more muscular and his face more craggy, more stern. Justice's severe dark suit only served to heighten the differences between them. Anders knew he was softer, more flighty, more fanciful. Justice was grounded. Justice was cold. Justice was severe and harsh. Other than their appearances and blood ties, they were nothing alike.  


“Wonderful.” Anders said dully. He thought that the Commander would keep his plans to himself, but no. Anders knew he couldn't really blame Cousland for letting Justice know Anders was returning to Kirkwall. Cousland probably thought Anders told Justice where he was heading. Cousland wasn’t exactly the type to keep secrets.  


“But you have arrived at an opportune time.” Justice continued, ignoring Anders's lack of enthusiasm. “There is a hospital benefit tomorrow evening-”  


“Oh dear, the benefit.” Leandra groaned. “This will certainly put a damper on the event.”  


“I don't mean to pry, but what exactly happened today?” Anders asked.  


“One of our guests, Messere Basil Beauchamp, an Orlesian friend of my husband's, turned up dead in his room shortly after breakfast.” Leandra said. “The city guard has been here all morning. We had to cancel the tea, but I suppose the news did not reach you in time, Messere Anders.”  


“Just Anders, please.” Anders requested. “And if I can be of any help-”  


“Mother?” A clear, proper, feminine voice said from the doorway. “The Guard is back again, to ask more questions. Our guests will have to leave soon.”  


“Thank you, Bethany.” Leandra said with a sigh. “My daughter, Miss Bethany Hawke. Bethany, this is Messere Anders.” Leandra told Anders as a young woman entered the parlor.  


She was a copy of her mother, Anders thought as he gave the girl a once-over. She looked like her mother, all soft curves and delicate features. Her eyes were a warm brown like chestnuts, and her dark hair was fashionably done in soft finger-waves. Everything about her was dainty, from the glittering hair comb shaped like blooming Andraste's Grace to her delicate pink tea gown and matching slippers. But much like her mother, there was something in Bethany Hawke's bearing, something about her rigid spine and the firm set of her mouth, that suggested the girl had more iron in her bearing than it first seemed.  


“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hawke.” Anders said politely, slightly bowing over Bethany's hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Despite the circumstances.”  


“The pleasure is all mine. We've heard so much about you, Messere. Is it true that you worked as a healer with the Grey Wardens during the Blight?” Her brown eyes gleamed with interest, but before Anders could say a word Orana appeared, wringing her hands together.  


“Ma'am, the Guard Inspector is waiting in the foyer. He and Messere Carver insist that all guests must leave so they can continue questioning the household.” Orana said, her voice trembling slightly. Anders smoothed down his skirt and gave Leandra Amell and Bethany Hawke his most charming smile.  


“If you need my assistance with your hospital benefit, my current residence is at the Ruby Repose.” Anders said politely. “Please, feel free to call on me any time.”  


“Of course. Thank you, Messere Anders. I'll go speak with the Guard Inspector.” Leandra replied as she stood from her chair. “Though I'm surprised Carver is here. They must be short staffed again.”  


“I'll call Garrett.” Bethany stated. “Orana, if you would escort our guests out?”  


“Yes, miss. Messeres, please follow me.” Orana said politely.  


“I will call on you another time today, Lady Amell, to discuss the benefit dinner and how to best move forward.” Justice declared as he stood from his seat.  


“Of course, Justice. I should speak with the Inspector, but perhaps-” Leandra shook her head. “There are simply not enough hours in the day!”  


“Justice, perhaps you could host?” Bethany suggested. “The benefit should continue as planned, but it would be unseemly for Mother or I to play hostess.”  


Anders could see that the suggestion flustered his straightforward, serious cousin. Organizing charity activities was no difficult task for Kristoff Justice. It was simply numbers and spreadsheets. But socializing with strangers? He would be like a drowning man, desperate for a gasp of air.  


“I will assist my dear cousin with the benefit gala.” Anders cut in smoothly. “It would be my pleasure to do so.”  


“If it is not trouble, it would be a great help.” Leandra said graciously. “But if you’ll excuse me?” She made a graceful exit, and Bethany followed. Justice frowned at Anders, his narrowed glare telling Anders everything he needed to know. He clearly didn’t trust Anders not to make a scene or a cause a stir, but he needed Anders to help him out. And Anders was never one to leave a comrade in need, even if it was his fussy cousin.  


“Whatever you are plotting, Anders, you must cease immediately.” Justice grumbled as they walked through the foyer. Justice’s hand gripped Anders’s elbow, an unyielding force propelling him out of the house. Orana curtsied politely when the telephone rang, and bustled away to answer the call. Justice and Anders were finally alone. Anders yanked his arm out of Justice’s iron grip and glared at his grim faced cousin.  


“It’s not plotting, Justice!” Anders complained. “It’s curiosity!”  


“More like a propensity to cause trouble.” Justice grumbled, but he seemed troubled.  


“What happened, Justice?” Anders prompted, softening his voice. It was rare for Kristoff Justice to be troubled. He sometimes seemed more like a machine than a person- always on track, always in control.  


“Gossip is a filthy habit.” Justice said primly. “And I am no gossip, Anders. But…”  


“But?” Anders asked with a half-smile plastered on his face. Justice was a terrible gossip, mostly because he did not always understand interactions between people. He needed other people, like Anders or Sigrund or even Nathaniel Howe, to help him interpret what was happening in social situations.  


“Messere Beauchamp finished his breakfast at half past nine this morning. I greeted him at ten, when I arrived to discuss tomorrow’s benefit dinner with Leandra.” Justice said quietly. “We went over the itinerary, and Messere Beauchamp went to his rooms to change into something more suitable than a bathrobe and house slippers. When he did not return, Leandra sent the maid, Orana, to check on him.”  


“So Orana found Messere Beauchamp.” Anders commented softly. “No wonder the poor girl was rattled.”  


“Miss Bethany had to call the police.” Justice remarked. “She is a steady, sensible girl, and a skilled mage. Though she is perhaps overly curious. She enjoys listening to tales about the Wardens.”  


“High praise, coming from you.” Anders teased, but he was surprised by Justice’s comment. Miss Bethany, a mage? Living as a noble in Kirkwall? It seemed impossible! Normally a mage would be locked up in the Gallows. He supposed money and titles could buy all sorts of privileges.  


Anders glanced down the hall and through an open door. Orana was whispering something on the phone. Miss Bethany was glaring up at an extremely tall young man dressed in a starched guard uniform standing at the foot of the stairs. He had Leandra’s eyes, Anders realized with some surprise. Were they related? Bethany rolled her eyes and stomped down the hallway. Probably related, Anders surmised.  


“Justice, I suddenly find that I must answer a call of nature.” Anders said, artfully stepping out of Justice’s reach and hurrying down the foyer, passing Orana and the stern guardsman. Orana didn’t stop him as he hurried down the hall and towards the stairs. The guardsman did, reaching one long arm across the stairs to prevent Anders from placing a  


“Excuse me, ser. You’re not allowed up there. Guard business.” The guard ordered, a sullen frown on his rather handsome face. Definitely Leandra’s eyes, Anders confirmed. They were the same shape, that same shade of lyrium blue. Anders smiled and fluttered his eyelashes, enjoying the way the stern guard flushed. Not as stone cold as you like to act, Anders thought with some mischief.  


“I wouldn’t dare presume to cause the guard trouble during their investigation.” Anders purred out. “But I do have a bit of a problem. If I could just go to use the lavatory…” Anders even improvised a bit of a squirming dance to make his pretend need to use the little mage’s room a little more authentic.  


“I’ll… speak with the Inspector.” The guard said with a slightly alarmed expression, as if he expected Anders’s bladder to give out right on the parquet floor. When the man hurried down the hall, Anders counted to three before rushing up the stairs, his skirts flapping wildly around his knees. He heard the guard’s heavy footsteps downstairs, but he didn’t run up the stairs. Good, Anders thought with a smirk. Now, to find Messere Beauchamp’s room.  


The Hawke Estate certainly had their share of guest rooms, Anders thought as he traveled down the hall. It was elegant, but lived in. The furniture was as well made as the furniture below, but simpler. There was a clear distinction between the public and the private, one Anders appreciated. While he loved luxury and living life to the fullest, he also valued privacy. Well, on most occasions he valued privacy, Anders amended as he reached an open bedroom door and peered inside.  


A badly drawn white chalk outline was laid out in the middle of a Rivaini carpet. Anders winced. He hoped the chalk could be brushed out of the wool. Rivaini carpets had such exquisite patterns and bright dyes, it would be a shame if this one work of art was ruined because of some chalk. Anders stepped over an overturned stool and approached the chalk outline. From a first appraisal of the room, it seemed like a violent struggle occurred. Clothing was scattered about the room. Several pieces of furniture were flipped on their sides. A dainty teacup, fine bone china with hand-painted rosebuds, lay broken in a puddle of milky tea on the wooden floor.  


But the outline suggested a different story. Even crudely drawn, it suggested that the victim, a portly figure, was curled up on his side in a fetal position. Not the position of someone who died from a violent struggle. More like someone who was violently ill. Anders knelt down on the carpet next to the chalk marks and tilted his head to view the outline from a new perspective. Was that an arm or a leg? But as Anders looked, he noticed that there was something hidden underneath a pair of silken small clothes. Anders carefully picked up the smalls that weren’t so small to get a better look at the object.  


It was a glass vial, a tiny thing no longer than Anders’s index finger. It was empty. Or was it? Anders gave it a critical look, and noted the faint blue residue on the glass. Lyrium? But lyrium was practically poison for most people, unless you were a mage. A mage like Bethany Hawke.  


Anders hastily replaced the vial, glad that he was still wearing his gloves. He returned his attention to the chalk outline. What if it was lyrium poisoning? If it wasn’t part of Bethany Hawke’s supply of lyrium (if she even had one), that would mean smuggling of some kind! Lyrium was heavily regulated by the Chantry! It was nearly impossible to get a hold of, and most non-Chantry sources were terribly dangerous. If Anders could examine the body, he’d know for certain if the lyrium was tainted or not.  


“What are you doing here? This is a guard investigation.” A harsh voice demanded. It was so deep and in charge that Anders flashed back to his days with the Wardens. His back straightened, his head lifted, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from barking out a “Ser, yes Ser!” Instead he got up, dusted his tea dress, and arranged a pleasant expression on his face before turning around to face this intruder.  


“So sorry, messere. I was looking for a powder room, but came across the crime scene instead.” Anders said demurely as he took in this newcomer.  


The man- no, the _elf_ \- in front of him was handsome. Stunning, even, with olive dark skin and a shock of white hair slicked back on his head. His features were sharp and angled, all straight, harsh lines. White markings akin to Dalish marks covered his skin, though they were nothing like the Dalish markings Anders was familiar with. A trio of dots marked the man’s forehead, and two thin lines ran down the man’s chin in curved lines before disappearing into the stiff collar of his white shirt. He was dressed neatly enough in a simple dark gray suit and dark tie, a dark coat draped over his arm. But it was his eyes, large and green and framed by long black eyelashes, that drew Anders in.  


“Sorry, Inspector.” The human guardsman, who towered over the elf, mumbled apologetically. “He ran past me when I left to speak with you.”  


“Do not worry over it, Carver.” The Inspector waved Carver away, never lifting his gaze from Anders. Anders felt like he was pinned to the floor with that gaze. So he did what he did best. He ran his mouth.  


“Does the Guard suspect foul play?” Anders questioned. “A heart attack would generally involve more flailing limbs, and the outline suggests a curled, fetal position. Unless the outline is more poorly drawn than I believe.” Behind the Inspector, Carver coughed, nervously shifting his weight, shuffling his feet as the silence grew heavier.  


“Messere-” The Inspector sighed, reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. And a rather nice nose it was, too, Anders observed. Aquiline. Lovely profile. If only he could paint, or sculpt, or even make a decent sketch, the world would have one more piece of remarkable art.  


“Anders, please.” Anders offered, fluttering his eyelashes like butterfly wings.  


“Messere Anders.” The Inspector’s expression was grim, and rather similar to the Warden Commander’s exasperated face when any of his Wardens were being particularly difficult. Anders was very familiar with that expression.  


“While we appreciate your _curiosity_ ,” The Inspector said the word with a particular bitter sharpness, with all the bite of dark chocolate. “This is a Guard matter, not a civilian one.”  


“Of course.” Anders demurred. “And I wouldn’t dare intrude any further.” He sashayed past the Inspector and the guard, Carver, before turning around and flashing the Inspector a coy smile.  


“I am newly arrived to town, Inspector.” Anders purred out. “And after this terrible tragedy, I would certainly feel safer knowing that the guard will answer my calls for help.” He fluttered his lashes for good measure, and was terribly pleased when the elf reached into the inside breast pocket of his charcoal suit jacket and handed him a business card printed on thick, creamy white paper. Anders traced the name embossed in green ink on the card. Inspector Fenris, Kirkwall South Guard, 42nd Street.  


“I assure you, Messere Anders, I intend to make Kirkwall perfectly safe.” Inspector Fenris said solemnly, but there was a light in his bright green eyes- a mix of irritation and amusement. Anders felt his heart flutter.  


“I feel better already, Inspector Fenris.” Anders said brightly, making sure his shoulders brushed against the Inspector’s as he left the room. “Should you need me for _questioning_ , I’m staying at the Ruby Repose.”  


“Inspector, should I escort him off the premises?” Guardsman Carver asked as Anders walked away. Inspector Fenris’s deep voice echoed down the hall, following Anders out.  


“No, Guardsman Hawke. We have enough to contend with without you escorting guests from your mother’s home.” The Inspector said dryly. Anders hurried down the stairs, his shoes clacking loudly against the wood. Interesting, Anders thought. Guardsman Carver Hawke was Leandra Amell’s son? That explained Miss Bethany’s behavior towards him- rolling your eyes at a member of the Guard during questions could be a great offense, but rolling your eyes at an overbearing sibling? Completely understandable.  


“Anders, where did you slip off to?” Justice boomed before grabbing Anders’s wrist and marching out of the Hawke estate. Justice never walked anywhere. He always marched.  


“Went to the powder room, Justice.” Anders said in his best haughty tone. “And I found plenty of interesting things while I was taking care of my business.”  


“What sort of things?” Justice asked cautiously. They halted in the gravel drive, right before the bend that hid the house from the street.  


“The sort of things that tell me that Messere Beauchamp’s death was no accident.” Anders said smugly. “Either the Hawke’s had a guest who indulged too far in a severe lyrium habit, or he was poisoned.”  


“Poisoned? With lyrium?” Justice’s bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he leaned forward to whisper into Anders’s ear. “Are you certain?”  


“Can’t be certain unless I see the body.” Anders retorted. “But I’ve seen enough lyrium overdoses during the Blight to recognize the symptoms. Who was Messere Beauchamp anyways?”  


“An old friend of Malcolm Hawke, Lady Amell's husband.” Justice replied. “Perhaps Lady Amell or her daughter could tell you more. That does not give you license to harangue them, Anders.” Justice continued with a thunderous frown. “The Amells are an old, well-respected family in Kirkwall, and the Hawkes have saved this city much trouble over the years.”  


“I’ll hardly harass them, Justice.” Anders said as he waved down a taxi. “I wouldn’t do that to a fellow mage, you know. I’m off to the hotel. Let me know when I can see that body, I’ll tell you if it’s lyrium that did your Orlesian in.” Anders popped into the taxi before Justice could reply. He had a few things to discuss with Isabela.

-

“I’m hardly involved in lyrium smuggling, Anders.” Isabela scoffed as she took another sip of her drink. Anders ordered in dinner, ham and cheese sandwiches and a pot of tea. He took the tea, and Isabela sipped on Starkhaven whiskey. “I own a nightclub and bar, sweetling, and it’s perfectly respectable.”  


“Don’t play innocent with me.” Anders argued, pouring more tea into the hotel’s fine china tea cup. “I know you, Isabela. You might be clean now, but you keep your ear to the ground. You know everything that happens in town, and you know everyone involved.”  


Isabela rolled her eyes and sighed, setting her glass on the coffee table. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” Anders shook his head, and Isabela continued. “So perhaps there’s a few smugglers. No one I know personally, they left years ago. But a few.”  


“Names? Organizations?” Anders prompted, setting tea cup and saucer on the table. The steam curled in the air between them. He had long changed out of his afternoon tea ensemble, slipping into a silky teal robe embroidered with patterns of curled feathers. “Really, Isabela, you can’t fool me. We’ve known each other for too long.” Isabela’s lips curled into a smile.  


“The Carta, Athenril’s crew, some human groups, probably some more if I really try to remember.” Isabela tossed her head, dark curls flying. “Obviously you can take a man out of the Grey Wardens, but you can’t take the Warden out of the man.”  


“If you’re careful and don’t wear the uniform, you don’t have to attend the parties.” Anders said lightly. “So, how easy can you get lyrium in Kirkwall?”  


Lyrium was an essential part of spellcraft and enchantments, and restored mana in mages when properly prepared. Templars could also consume it, but it was dangerously addictive for anyone who wasn’t a mage. It might dull pain and increase strength and stamina, as well as give drinkers a bit of an electric thrill when consumed, but lyrium was dangerous, even deadly. But if there was a profit to be made, someone would be smuggling lyrium in, out, and around Kirkwall.  


“You won’t get it from the Chantry, that’s for certain.” Isabela snorted. “Unless you’re a Templar currently serving under Meredith, you have better odds with the Carta and suffering through their payment plans.”  


“Fascinating. I could always get lyrium in Amaranthine, provided I had my paperwork together.” Anders remarked, though he felt a small measure of relief. Pretty, polite Bethany Hawke was probably not to blame for Messere Beauchamp’s untimely demise. “So Kirkwall has gotten worse since I’ve been away?”  


“Oh, it’s been chaos of all kinds. But that’s Kirkwall, darling.” Isabela said breezily. “So, tell me all about the canceled party and that delightful Inspector.”  


“Not much of a party, and hardly delightful.” Anders chuckled. “He’s a rather handsome elf. Dalish, I suspect. Has clan markings on his chin and forehead. Inspector Fenris, that’s what his card says.” Anders tugged the business card out of his coat pocket before handing it over to Isabela.  


“Hmm, I know him, vaguely. Orders a glass of Aggregio Pavali, sits in the corner, and broods beautifully.” Isabela wriggled her eyebrows at Anders. “Did he brood at you?”  


“There was some irritated glaring.” Anders admitted. “But not quite brooding.”  


“Too bad.” Isabela remarked, picking up her whiskey and downing it. “It really is a lovely brood. So lanky, too, and with the prettiest eyes! Makes a woman want to-”  


There was a knock at the door, and Anders slowly stood up and stretched. He jammed his bare feet into a soft pair of slippers and shuffled to the door. It was the bellhop from this afternoon, and behind him-  


“Justice! Such a pleasant surprise.” Anders said forcefully, moving aside to let his cousin in. Kristoff Justice brushed past him with two large steps. Anders quietly thanked and paid the bellhop for escorting his guest to his room before turning towards his cousin.  


“Anders, I do not approve of you hanging around such dubious company.” Justice said sternly. Isabela’s curled up smile was as content as a cat with all the cream. She would consider it a great compliment to be called dubious company.  


“Justice, you charming ball of uptight frustration, how are you?” Isabela called out cheerfully. Justice made a sound between a snort and an exasperated sigh before taking a seat in Anders’s armchair. He didn’t even remove his dark blue overcoat, or his faded grey porkpie hat with the worn brim.  


“Miss Isabela. Good evening.” Justice said stiffly. Anders sashayed back to the sitting area and plopped down on the sofa next to Isabela.  


“You wanted to talk, Justice?” Anders asked, before pointing to the teapot and a tin of shortbread. “Refreshments? Snacks? Have you eaten anything?” Justice often ignored his physical needs in favor of his work, a trait he and Anders shared, especially during their time with the Wardens.  


Justice ignored Anders’s questions. “The benefit soiree tomorrow. It is of prime importance that you are an impeccable host. We can’t afford any strange outbursts or outlandish behavior.”  


“Outlandish?” Anders asked.  


“No dancing on tables, no seducing the other guests, no stripping down to your smalls, and no setting the house plants on fire.” Justice listed off. Isabela laughed, tossed her head back and howled.  


“Tables, Anders?” She asked once she found her breath. Anders shrugged.  


“It seemed appropriate after a bottle of Orlesian champagne.” He replied. “But don’t worry, dear cousin. I won’t embarrass you. Your clinic will get its funding. I’ll be perfectly charming.” Anders punctuated his statement with a sip of tea. He was _always_ charming, and tomorrow night he would prove it!

-

Anders adjusted his headpiece, a glittering hair comb shaped like a swallow taking flight. His cream colored satin gown ended below the knee in a cascade of pale ostrich feathers, and his matching heels clicked as he exited the taxi cab and walked down the drive towards the Hawke estate. The windows were lit up with candles and electric lights, bright and golden beams in the dark, and a steady crowd of people flowed into the house and those warm lights. Justice cut a cold, imposing figure in the doorway, as severe as always in his dark suit and slicked back hair. Anders greeted him warmly with a kiss on each cheek.  


“I assume Lady Amell and Miss Bethany are upstairs?” Anders asked quietly as he pulled away.  


“Yes. I am told it would be in poor taste for them to appear at the benefit so soon after a death in the household.” Justice said. 

“Yet it is not poor taste to host the party at their estate where the death took place.” Anders slipped his hand into the crook of Justice’s elbow and allowed Justice to escort him inside the estate.  


“You dressed rather frivolously. Again.” Justice noted. There was a tinge of disapproval in his voice, and Anders rolled his eyes fondly at Justice’s familiar scolding. He found that he missed it terribly when Justice left the Wardens to pursue his work as a hospital director.  


“It’s just a bit of fun, Justice! Trust me, it’ll turn enough heads and flatter enough people that money will positively pour in.” Anders laughed and patted Justice’s hand. “Now, show me some of our donors so I can woo them out of their sovereigns.”  


That was how Anders found himself chatting with a rather witty dwarf whose shirt and smile were open and indecently wide. Anders approved of him immensely, especially when he started pointing out the other guests and his observations.  


“That old woman over there, with the pince-nez and the sour expression that makes her look like she sucked a lemon?” The dwarf said, gesturing with his glass of beer. “Lady Reginald. She’s the head of a rival Kirkwall family. She probably wanted the party to be canceled, so she could swoop in and save the day by throwing it at her estate.” The elderly matron the dwarf pointed out looked extremely put out as she ate a cracker with basil and a tomato slice rolled up to look like a blooming rose.  


“Lovely gossip, Messere-” Anders replied, but Justice had neglected to give him the dwarf’s name. He just pointed in a direction and said “him.” Very helpful, Justice.  


“Tethras. Varric Tethras, at your service.” The dwarf said, miming a bow complete with a flourish of his empty hand. “And you must be that healer mage Justice mentioned.”  


“However did you guess?” Anders asked.  


“I could make a tasteless joke about you being comfortable in skirts, but I just did my research.” Varric replied. “Helps that I’m friends with the man of the house.”  


“Carver Hawke?”  


“Little Hawke? He wouldn’t call me a friend, exactly.” Varric chuckled at that. “More like an annoying acquaintance. No, his older brother, Garrett Hawke. Good man. He told me about the guests.”  


“Did he tell you to say hello?” Anders asked with an arch of his eyebrow. Varric laughed at that remark. It was a nice laugh, deep and warm, and it rumbled in Anders’s ears.  


“Call it professional curiosity. I’m a writer more than a businessman. I like talking to people.” Varric gave Anders a particularly piercing look. “Especially Grey Wardens who suddenly came into wealth under mysterious circumstances during the Blight.”  


“Oh, that.” Anders rolled his eyes. “Hardly any mystery. Save a few of the right lives and be in the right places, and suddenly you’re a friend of the King of Ferelden and have a tidy sum to live off of for the rest of your days.”  


“Sounds interesting.” Varric waved over an elf dressed in tight fitting dark red collared shirt and dark slacks. “Come visit me at the Hanged Man, have an ale. We can talk about your exploits in greater detail.”  


“And write them in a book?” Anders laughed. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the unfortunate guest who died?”  


“Basil Beauchamp? Sure, I know a bit.” Varric shrugged, drinking his beer. “Orlesian, from a noble family. Former Templar, but retired because of a leg injury.”  


“A retired Templar?” Anders scoffed. “You’re joking.” But the bottle of lyrium in Messere Beauchamp’s room suddenly made much more sense. Even after they were done with the Order, Templars struggled with their lyrium addiction. Perhaps an accidental overdose, or a bad batch of the stuff, did Messere Beauchamp in. It might not have been poisoning at all!  


“Why Blondie!” Varric pretended to take offense, placing a hand to his hirsute chest dramatically. “I am offended! My storytelling is _far_ more interesting!”  


“I’m sure it is.” Anders grinned. “And I look forward to a story with a dashing apostate mage causing trouble all through the countryside.”  


“Of course you do! But in the meantime, why don’t I introduce you to some of the evening’s more interesting guests?” Varric gestured to the elf who finally extracted himself from a conversation to approach them. “This is Jethann, a world renowned dancer. Jethann, this is Messere Anders, a healer and Grey Warden.”  


“And a delightful breath of fresh air.” Jethann declared, kissing Anders’s knuckles. “How are you enjoying yourself in Kirkwall, Messere Anders?”  


“Quite well, Messere Jethann.” Anders tilted his head slightly. There was something familiar about Jethann, from his upturned nose to his strawberry blond hair that ended at his pointed chin. “I believe I saw you dance once, in Val Royeux. It was an Antivan tango.”  


“Ah, I remember.” Jethann gave Anders an impish smile. “Do you tango, Messere Anders?”  


“Anders, please. And yes, though not as well as you.” Anders returned Jethann’s smile. “It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of a good dance.”  


“Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Jethann purred, taking Anders’s hand and leading him to a clear part of the room. The small quartet of musicians in the corner of the room struck up a slow, sultry tune, and Jethann pulled Anders next to him.  


“Ready?” Jethann whispered into Anders’s ear, and Anders grinned. He was _always_ ready.  


The music swelled, Jethann’s hand pressed against the small of Anders’s back, and they were dancing. There was a twirl, then a dip, Anders tilted his head back and lightly trailed his hand down Jethann’s arm, fluttering his lashes coyly. Jethann’s impish features seemed more suited for a playful dance, not something as sensual as a tango, but he had masterful control over his body. Each movement of his feet, each twist of his hands, commanded Anders to move. It was a challenge without words, and Anders turned his head away. He chose to disobey.  


Jethann turned him back, and they were off again, moving across the floor to the music. Anders forgot about the party, about the guests, about raising money and Justice’s disapproval, about everything but the dance. He let Jethann lead him, swivel, turn, twist, but he pushed back. He smiled and brushed past as he circled, light on his feet and eyes fierce.  


The violins cried and Jethann lunged, wrapping an arm around Anders’s waist before dipping him one final time to thunderous applause. Anders fluttered his eyes open. Varric was grinning broadly and clapping his hands. Justice stood by the mantlepiece and scowled. And Orana stood in the doorway, wringing her hands, her eyes darting anxiously from place to place before settling on Justice. And standing behind her, dressed in his dark suit and long coat, was Inspector Fenris. What on Andraste’s sacred ass was he doing here?  


“You make a wonderful partner, Messere Anders.” Jethann breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as he lifted Anders’s hand to his lips and brushing a kiss against his pulse. The action sent a thrill down Anders’s spine. The trip from Amaranthine to Kirkwall had been rather long, and Anders had not had a chance to scratch that particular itch in some time.  


“I’m flattered, Messere Jethann. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Anders gave Jethann a smile and slipped away, letting his hand linger for a moment longer than was strictly proper. His curiosity was eating at him, but he’d always get a chance to take Jethann to his hotel room later, if he didn’t have to leave the party early. Jethann smiled back and let Anders go, and Anders hurried over to Justice, who was standing by the door and speaking in hushed tones with the Inspector.  


“We have to question the household again. In particular, Miss Bethany Hawke.” The Inspector said quietly as Anders finally made it to Justice’s side.  


“And this could not wait until morning?” Justice asked with a frown.  


“We have questions about Messere Beauchamp’s death, and Miss Hawke may have some answers.” The Inspector said vaguely, and Anders had a feeling he knew what this was all about. The lyrium. It all came down to that bottle he found under Messere Beauchamp’s smalls. And if the Guard believed Miss Bethany to be involved, it would be because Messere Beauchamp died from a suspicious lyrium overdose, and they believed Miss Bethany had access to lyrium. And the only way she could have access to lyrium in a way that wasn’t an arrestable offense was… was…  


“You don’t suspect that poor girl to have been involved in this mess, do you?” Anders hissed. Just so typical of Kirkwall, blame a mage for every problem under the sun! Disgusting! He glared at the Inspector. “I suppose you’ve already decided on a motive and punishment, haven’t you?”  


“It is only questioning, Messere Anders.” Inspector Fenris said shortly as Miss Bethany descended the stairs, escorted by an older guard with impressive mutton chops and a kind face. “Now, if you’re done accusing me-” Anders brushed by him and took Bethany’s hand in his.  


The girl was dressed in a simple cotton house dress and sensible closed toe black shoes, and she seemed perfectly composed until Anders took a closer look at her dark eyes. The poor girl was frightened. Anders patted her hand gently.  


“If you find yourself in any trouble, come find me at the Ruby Repose Resort.” Anders told her firmly. “I know some people who can help.” To be more accurate, Isabela knew people who would smuggle a mage out of Kirkwall if it came down to desperate measures. He knew the girl was innocent. As strong as that fire in her eyes was, Anders didn’t believe she was capable of _murder_!  


“Thank you, Messere Anders.” Bethany whispered, and then she was gone, the kind-faced guard and cool Inspector following her.  


“Well, that dampens the party spirit, doesn’t it?” Varric Tethras remarked. “But don’t worry, Justice, Blondie. Sunshine will be just fine.” Anders wanted to believe Varric, but experience told him that nothing would be fine. When it came to mages in South Thedas, nothing was ever _fine_.  


The golden evening, with its light laughter and frivolity, seemed dingy now. It was stained by the terrible facts of life that always chased Anders about like a hungry wolf. But when he was about to leave, Jethann took his coat and slipped it over Anders’s shoulders. His slim fingers brushed over the back of Anders’s neck, and he shuddered. Maybe the party was ruined, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t salvage it and enjoy the rest of the night. He gave Jethann a smile, and let the elf escort him out to the waiting taxi. And if Jethann joined him in the taxi, and followed him up to his rooms later, well, no one needed to know all the details, did they? Anders welcomed every tender touch as they twined together in a different sort of dance.

-

Anders woke in the morning to find Jethann gone and a note folded on his side table. Anders unfolded it and read the message.  


_It is rare to find such skill and beauty in one person. If you find the need for a partner, give me a call._  


The note was punctuated with a hastily scribbled heart, and Anders chuckled before crawling out of bed and slipping into his teal bathrobe. After such a vigorous evening, it was best to tuck into breakfast and get ready for the day. He ordered room service, and was just about to take a bite of toast smeared with jam when there was a knock at his door. Anders set his food down and swung the door open to reveal the person standing behind it.  


Bethany Hawke stood in the hallway, dressed in the simple house clothes she was wearing last evening. Even though she seemed perfectly composed, her eyes were red and her nose slightly pink, as if she had been crying. She straightened her back, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.  


“I’m sorry for calling on you so early, Messere Anders, but I’m afraid I may need the help of those friends of yours.” Bethany said quietly.  


“I think you should come inside, then.” Anders replied, standing aside and ushering Bethany into his rooms. He shut the door and gestured towards the couch. “Have a seat, eat some breakfast, and tell me what happened.” He felt himself reverting back to his mannerisms with the Wardens: efficient, practical, and no-nonsense. Bethany primly sat down on the couch and hesitantly took a piece of toast from Anders’s breakfast tray as Anders settled down into a chair. Her dark brown eyes were firmly fixed on the rug. Anders sighed. He’d start from the beginning, then.  


“So the Guard questioned you?” Anders asked gently. Bethany nodded.  


“So many questions it made my head spin.” She confessed. “Inspector Fenris was a perfect gentleman, but he’s meticulous. He wanted to know everything about Messere Beauchamp.” She placed her toast on the tray. “I told him what I could remember. It's been so long since I've seen him, you see. I was a little girl the last time he visited.”  


“Perhaps you should tell me, Miss Bethany. Everything you told the Inspector.” Anders urged. “If you can remember it, you should tell me.” The one positive thing Anders could glean from Bethany’s presence in his room was that the Guard did not think- or could not _prove_ \- that she was responsible for Messere Beauchamp’s death.  


“I told them that Messere Beauchamp was a friend of my father, and remained close to the family. He was a Templar in Orlais, and served at Montsimmard before retiring and taking over the Beauchamp estate. He and my father met in Kirkwall, when they were trainees. My father was a mage and Messere Beauchamp a Templar, but they became fast friends. They continued speaking to each other over the years, writing letters and visiting .” Bethany explained. Her eyes wandered over to the top of the bureau that contained a collection of the hotel’s china. “Messere Anders?”  


“Yes?”  


“I believe one of your shoes is on the bureau. If you were looking for it.” Bethany said quietly. Her cheeks were flushed red. Anders glanced over to the bureau, where one golden shoe, precariously hanging off the corner of the bureau, gleamed in the late morning light.  


“Ah, thank you. My dance instructor and I were working on my tombé.” Anders replied breezily. “What else did you tell the Inspector, Miss Bethany?”  


“They asked about lyrium.” Bethany shuddered. “I told them that the last time I had any was nearly two years ago. All of the records are at the Chantry. Why would they ask about lyrium?”  


“Poison, most likely.” Anders remarked. “But since they let you go, I doubt they think you had anything to do with it. Perhaps they found some other avenue of questioning.” Anders leaned over and patted Bethany’s hand. “But don’t worry. Was there anything else? Anything unusual?”  


“Well… there was a Templar present.” Bethany confessed. “Inspector Fenris and Guard Captain Vallen seemed irritated that he was there. I was told it was standard procedure when a mage is involved in a criminal case, but it seemed unusual.”  


“It is.” Anders said grimly. “At least, in the rest of Thedas it’s unusual.” Templars were supposed to get involved when it was a case of magic being used in a criminal case, not a case where someone happened to be a mage. Blood magic, demon summoning, and the use of magic to commit a crime… that was when the Templars got involved. Anders couldn’t deny that Templars were very, very good at killing demons. But a case of lyrium poisoning where someone in the house happened to be a mage was not Templar business.  


“I’ll be getting dressed. I have some business with my cousin.” Anders informed Bethany. “Will you need an escort home, Miss Bethany?”  


“No, thank you.” Bethany smiled and smoothed out her skirt. “My brother escorted me here. He’s downstairs, chatting with a friend of his. You may have met him last night. The friend, that is. Messere Tethras?”  


“So the brother downstairs would be Garrett Hawke?” Anders asked. Bethany rolled her pretty eyes and smiled.  


“Yes. It seems everyone knows who he is.” She said fondly. “Thank you for meeting with me, Messere Anders.”  


“And you are most welcome, Miss Bethany. Call on me if you need anything.” Anders requested. Bethany stood, and Anders followed. She made her polite goodbyes and left, and Anders hurriedly dressed himself. It was time to visit the hospital and beg a favor from Justice.

-

“Anders, this is absurd. And a violation of hospital protocol.” Justice complained as he unlocked the door to the morgue. Anders ignored Justice’s remark and entered the morgue, his plain dark boots clicking on the tile floor. He took off his cream colored Starkhaven tam and removed his long dark blue coat, then rolled up the sleeves of his white blouse. He wore wide leg trousers for ease of movement, but Justice rolled his eyes at the entire ensemble. He probably did not approve of the extravagant outfit. Justice rarely approved of luxury. Anders removed the white sheet of the body on the examination table and eyed it with a critical healer’s eye.  


“Messere Basil Beauchamp. The coroner has already declared his death to be a case of lyrium poisoning. Overdose, most likely.” Justice continued. “So if you are done, Anders-”  


“I see evidence of continued lyrium use.” Anders agreed. “Give me a moment, Justice!”  


Basil Beauchamp had been using lyrium for some time. The signs were all there: the wear in the joints, the advanced deterioration in the teeth, the leanness in his frame underneath his weight. There was an unhealthy pallor to his body that went beyond death. It seemed that Messere Beauchamp had been a chronic lyrium user in the past. An overdose was possible, but unlikely. Someone that experienced with lyrium wouldn’t overdose, right? Unless he was weaning himself off. Unless he cracked and had a bad day- Anders turned the man’s arm over and gazed at the forearm. It was dotted with scars, some of them quite recent. A constant lyrium user, then.  


“Where did you get your lyrium, Beauchamp?” Anders muttered.  


“We had thought Miss Bethany Hawke might know the answer. But perhaps you can enlighten us, Messere Anders.” A cool voice interrupted Anders’s analysis of the body as Inspector Fenris appeared in the doorway.  


“Or should I say, Warden Anders of Amaranthine, graduate of Kinloch Preparatory Academy for Mages?” Inspector Fenris continued as he walked into the morgue, his dark suit a crisp contrast to the pale white of the morgue tile and paint. He looked perfectly composed, but those eyes- those bottle-green eyes were haunted and hunting. There was a darkness that lurked in those eyes, and it frightened Anders. What had this elf seen that caused him to look at Anders like he was such a threat?  


“I have no idea where you can get a hold of illegal lyrium in Kirkwall. Messere Beauchamp clearly did.” Anders finally answered after a moment of quiet. One of Inspector Fenris’s ears twitched slightly, an almost endearing gesture if it didn't belong to someone so fearsome and rude.  


“What makes you say that?” Inspector Fenris eventually asked. Anders lifted Messere Beauchamp’s hand.  


“Blue fingernails. The blue tinge to his skin and lips.” Anders peeled back an eyelid. “See, even a blue tinge to his eyes! Bad batch of lyrium, I’m certain of it.”  


“It could be an overdose.” The Inspector argued.  


“He would have had to inject three wine casks of Chantry sanctioned lyrium into his system to have the same effect.” Anders replied. “But illegal lyrium can be a mixed bag. Sometimes it’s stronger than the Chantry lyrium. Sometimes it’s diluted with other materials. Sometimes those added materials enhance the lyrium. It’s always different.” And always dangerous. Inspector Fenris seemed intrigued. He marched over to the body and took a closer look at Beauchamp’s fingernails.  


“Could you trace the lyrium he used?” He asked suddenly. “Is it possible to find a match?” His green, green eyes were bright with curiosity, and fierce intelligence that surprised Anders. He had a feeling that Inspector Fenris knew the lyrium could be tracked down. He wanted a second opinion. A Warden’s opinion. Was that why he mentioned Anders’s past?  


“If I had a toxicology report and a few samples, possibly.” Anders said cautiously. “I’d say you’re looking for lyrium enhanced with another substance. I bet orichalcum. It’s common enough, and isn’t as easy to notice at a glance. Even a long time user of lyrium could be fooled.” Maker knew he had seen that enough times at Kinloch Prep and with the Wardens. There was money to be made in lyrium smuggling, and plenty to be saved by delivering an inferior product.  


“Messere Beauchamp was a Templar.” Justice informed them, his voice booming through the morgue. “I asked him if he could contact his fellows in Montsimmard to develop more low-cost clinics. We offer treatment for lyrium addicts. Messere Beauchamp believed such a program would be of great help in Orlais. ‘An excellent proposition,’ I believe he called it. It seems so unnatural that he would consume lyrium when he advocated against its use.”  


“Did he ever mention lyrium to you?” Inspector Fenris asked.  


“Yes. He called it a Chantry leash.” Justice’s brow furrowed, and Anders knew it was Justice trying to once again interpret people’s emotions. “He seemed… annoyed. Frustrated. Perhaps even sad.”  


“I see. Thank you.” The Inspector sighed and moved away from the morgue’s entrance. “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, Warden Anders, will you please leave the morgue?” He gestured towards the door. Anders stalked past the Inspector, pulling his jacket on, his boots click-clicking as he walked past.  


“Thank you, Inspector. I’ll tell you if I find anything useful if I get a copy of the toxicology report.” Anders said snidely. Behind him he heard Justice apologizing to the Inspector, who muttered something under his breath in the dark, rough voice of his. Anders hurried up a set of stairs so he could sit in Justice’s office and avoid any further conversation with Inspector Fenris.  


He sat on top of Justice’s desk and waited for Justice to return to his office. While he waited, Anders stewed. When did the Inspector learn about Anders being a Warden? It wasn’t as though he hid it, but he certainly hadn’t advertised it either. Had Justice said something? He glared out the windows into the street below.  


A Chantry Sister stood on a street corner, handing out pamphlets. Cars slowly drove by the hospital. An elf child, probably a street urchin, sat by the side of a building with a rag and a tin of boot polish. Shoe shining for a few coppers to scrape together a meal for the day, Anders thought grimly. Smuggling would be alive in well in a city where children had to work to not starve. Anders turned his head away. What could be done? Nothing could be done. Kirkwall was a hopeless mess.  


Justice slammed the door open and shut. His grim expression was even more grim than usual. He stormed over to Anders and pointed one long finger into Anders’s chest.  


“You.” He growled out. “Must you always antagonize everyone you meet, Anders?”  


“Hardly my fault that the Inspector and I don’t get along. You know that I’m charming, Cousin.” Anders replied, stretching his arms above his head. “So, toxicology reports?”  


“Why are you so interested in this?” Justice asked. “It is hardly your business.”  


“Professional curiosity. I do specialize in healing. I've seen just about everything.” Anders said blandly. Justice raised his eyebrows, his icy blue eyes boring into Anders’s. “You saw how they blamed a mage first, before anything else came to mind! Lyrium meant mage, and nothing else.”  


“Anders, do not make this one of your causes.” Justice sighed. “There are many problems in Kirkwall. The relationship between the Chantry, the Templars, and mages is one trouble among many.” Justice sat down at his desk and opened up a drawer, taking out more paperwork.  


“It’s not a _cause_ , Justice! It’s the right thing to do!” Anders argued. He stared down at his hands, at the callouses that remained from wielding a staff that couldn’t ever really be removed, no matter how many lotions and files he used to try and smooth down the rough patches on his skin. Being a mage was part of who he was! It was not a crime!  


“That’s not your only motivation, is it, Anders?” Justice’s harsh voice was softer now. “This won’t bring him back.”  


“You have no right to talk about my motivations.” Anders hissed out. “You have no _right_!”  


“What happened to Karl was not your fault.” Justice said firmly. “You did what you could to save him.”  


“He was put to the brand, Justice!” Anders whispered. “Some monster branded him and made him Tranquil!” Some evil, twisted creature used medieval techniques from the Dragon Age to destroy the mind of someone precious and good in this world. Karl Thekla had done nothing wrong in his life. His only crime was being a mage. Anders breathed in slowly, in and out, trying to control himself before he destroyed Justice’s office in a barrage of fireballs or broke down in tears. He didn’t know what would be worse.  


“You loved him. You made sure he was cared for until he died.” Justice consoled him. It was supposed to be a consolation, but Anders took no comfort from it. “You put him in the best facility you could find. You saw to his health. You spent years together.”  


“I couldn’t bring him back. I failed.” Anders said, his voice tight. “And in the end, he died anyways. I couldn’t even prevent that. A Grey Warden and spirit healer, and I couldn’t even stop a common cold!” Karl had never been the healthiest man, but the abuse his tormentor piled on him when he was made Tranquil destroyed what little resistance he had. Anders tried his best, he truly did, but Karl died two years after he was made Tranquil. Pneumonia. Anders buried him and ran away from this Maker forsaken city for years. But now he was back. Now he had a better chance at finding the monster who murdered Karl. Now he had a chance at justice. And if not justice, then vengeance.  


“Magic can’t heal everything.” Justice replied. “But you were with him until the end. You did right by him.”  


“I haven’t done nearly enough.” Anders muttered. “Not yet.” He hopped off Justice’s desk and jammed his hat back on his head. He gave Justice a smile, but it was pitifully weak.  


“I’ll call on you later, Justice. I’m going to chat with Isabela.” Anders left then, hurrying out of the room and down the stairs. He was looking down at his feet when he stumbled into a rather broad chested man.  


“Careful there!” The man said cheerfully. “Don’t want a pretty thing like you dropping and breaking an ankle!”  


“That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” Anders retorted cheekily, almost on instinct. “Lucky for me that a strong man was around to catch me.”  


“Lucky indeed!” The man peered into Anders’s face. His eyes were a rather familiar shade of brown, and even his bushy black beard and messy hair couldn’t hide the fact that his face was very, very handsome and very, very familiar. “Not to be rude or assume anything, but are you related to Kristoff Justice?”  


“Cousins.” Anders replied. “And you look like someone I know, I just can’t-”  


“Hawke! I got those papers you wanted, when- well, if it isn’t Messere Warden! How are you this fine afternoon, Blondie? Hawke, this is Anders. Anders, Garrett Hawke.” Varric Tethras said as he poked his head around the corner. His smile was wide and welcoming.  


“So you’re that Warden Anders my sister’s been raving about.” Garrett Hawke said with a broad smile as he offered a hand to Anders to shake. Even his teeth were perfect. “She’s desperate to talk to you about your work with the Wardens. She wants to use her magic like the Wardens do- healing people instead of parlor tricks. Impossible to do in this Maker damned city.”  


“And you’re Garrett Hawke.” Anders replied, taking Hawke’s hand and shaking it. Hawke’s hands were rather large, and his grip strong. “I’ve heard much about you.”  


“Guilty as charged.” Hawke grinned. “It’s good to meet you, Anders.”  


“Likewise.” Anders smiled and let go of Hawke’s hand. “And it’s lovely to see you again, Messere Tethras.”  


“Varric, Blondie. Only members of the Merchant’s Guild call me Messere Tethras.” Varric said kindly. “Had a good talk with your cousin, Blondie?”  


“We had a talk.” Anders commented. “Did you find what you needed?”  


“We did.” Varric held up the file and grinned. “Some medical records for Sunshine.”  


“Let me guess. Templar request?” Anders asked. Hawke’s bright expression shuttered closed for a moment, while Varric raised an eyebrow. It told Anders everything he needed to know. “Typical. They’re looking for signs of blood magic. Hospitalizations, unusual scarring, cases of mental instability.”  


“Fucking Meredith.” Hawke growled out. His friendly face transformed into something dark and frightening. Murderous, even. “That fucking smarmy cu-”  


“Sunshine won’t be going anywhere, Hawke.” Varric said soothingly. “The Viscount and Grand Cleric might be shaking in their boots because of Meredith, but she won’t mess with you.“  


“She better not.” Hawke shook his shaggy head and gave Anders a distant sort of smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Anders. Now’s not the best time, but feel free to call.”  


“Of course, Messere Hawke. Varric. I hope to see you both again soon.” Anders said politely before leaving the hospital. He had a club owner and former smuggler to chat with.

-

Isabela’s nightclub, The Mermaid’s Tear, sat near Kirkwall’s docks. Anders was surprised by the sheer classiness of the place. The large bay windows that flanked the entrance were sparkling clean. The brass fixtures were brightly polished. The dark wood floor was polished and waxed, and the tables gleamed under the hum of electric lights. Even the dark blue velvet drapes were brushed clean. Isabela ran a tight, clean ship. The lady herself was standing behind the bar, mixing drinks and chatting with her customers. She may be the owner, but she could never take a background position in any of her endeavors. Typical Isabela, Anders thought with a smile as he took a seat at the bar. Isabela whistled and gave him a long look.  


“Look at this tall cool drink who walked in on such a hot day.” Isabela purred. “What can I get you, handsome?”  


“Nothing yet, beautiful.” Anders flirted back. He took Isabela’s hand and kissed it. “Got a look at that body. Definitely tainted lyrium. Probably mixed with orichalcum.” He whispered the last bit, and Isabela rolled her eyes.  


“Not my business, sweet thing.” She replied, patting his cheek. The golden rings on her fingers were cool on his skin. “Left that behind me.”  


“I know you did. But if you have any suggestions…” Anders let the request trail off into nothingness, and Isabela rolled her eyes fondly.  


“The Carta prides itself on quality.” Isabela stated. “Athenril Isn't much in the business of smuggling lyrium anymore. Told me the cost to continue was too damn high. She’d rather smuggle furs and wine. ‘A guaranteed profit,’ she says.” Isabela rolled her eyes at that, as if she didn’t approve of Athenril’s caution.  


“But there’s someone you think might be running lyrium mixed with orichalcum? Or someone who knows who did it?” Anders asked. Isabela pointed over towards a shady table in the corner.  


“Your broody Inspector certainly thinks so.” Isabela replied cheekily. “And I may have suggested he sit down and wait for a bit for them to come by. Play some Diamondback, relax a bit. They’ll be here soon.”  


“Who?”  


“You’ll know when you see them. It’s Tuesday.” Isabela shrugged and flitted back to the bar. “They always come by on Tuesday.” The last bit was muttered under her breath. Anders made his way to the corner table and sat down. Inspector Fenris glowered at him, which Anders ignored as he took off his hat and shrugged out of his coat.  


“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Anders remarked. The Inspector snorted, as if he didn’t believe that Anders was telling the truth.  


“Warden Anders. Why am I not surprised?” He said dryly. “You seem to have a tendency to find trouble wherever you go.” He sipped his wine again, just as the door opened and several rough looking men and women shuffled into the room. They were mostly human, though Anders spotted three dwarves and one elf with the group. All were dressed in rough work-clothes. Inspector Fenris leaned slightly over the table and frowned even more. As if that were possible.  


“I know that man. Samson.” The Inspector muttered. “Lyrium addict. Was once a Templar, if you believe it.”  


Anders took a closer look at the man the Inspector pointed out, a tall man who was slightly stooped over, dark hair hanging limp around his gaunt face. He might have once been muscular, Anders mused. Strong and healthy. But that weight had dropped off long ago, leaving behind a lean frame of bone and skin. But it was his eyes that confirmed it, that hungry, anxious look that revealed the wear and tear of consistent lyrium usage over a long period of time.  


“I’d express shock that a Templar would take part in lyrium smuggling, but I know all too well how tight the Chantry leashes their attack dogs.” Anders snarked quietly. “He wouldn’t be able to stop consuming lyrium. Not a surprise to see an ex-Templar turn to smugglers to get their fix.”  


Inspector Fenris merely grunted some sort of reply and returned to watching the group settle around a table. Isabela sauntered over and spoke quietly with the group, patting a few shoulders and flirting amiably with the crew. Fenris sipped his wine. Anders tapped his fingers on the stained surface of the wooden table. Samson sat down with the group, but further removed, his eyes shifting to every corner of the bar, his body shivering slightly like it took a chill no one else could feel. Isabela left the group, and a rather gruff looking qunari man deposited a tray of drinks on the crew’s table with a loud bang.  


“Planning to do anything, Inspector?” Anders asked breezily when fifteen minutes of drunken carousing had passed. What on Thedas was this elf waiting for? A bar fight?  


“There is no harm in a man having a drink after a hard day’s work.” Inspector Fenris said calmly. “And I can't arrest people without cause.”  


“Isabela’s testimony isn’t enough?” Anders questioned. Surely the word of a former smuggler counted for something, wouldn’t it?  


“For another Inspector, perhaps. But I prefer to be absolutely certain.” Fenris finished his wine and set the goblet down on the table. It seemed he had finished waiting, and Anders’s theory was confirmed when Fenris stood up and strolled over to the table to speak with the group. The conversation was rather quiet, and Anders struggled to pick up the words, but it seemed that Inspector Fenris had everything in hand until one of the humans, one who had probably been in his cups since noon, spat near the Inspector’s feet. Good of him to miss those thin soled leather shoes so many elves wore. Those were impossible to clean.  


“Dirty knife ear son of a bitch, actin’ all high like yer piss is made of gold-” The man grumbled angrily, but Inspector Fenris’s green eyes lit up with a strange sort of glee, or perhaps excitement. It was as if he enjoyed the prospect of arguing with a drunk. Anders kept back to watch the show.  


“It would certainly augment my poor salary if I could produce gold.” The Inspector replied. “But I was under the impression that you have a business that produces gold, in a fashion.”  


“Just dock workers, elf. No gold in carrying boxes.” A dwarf piped up. “But we could always use another strong back, if you need extra coin.”  


“Enough harassing Serrah Elf.” The ragged man, Samson, croaked. "He has important business. Do you not, Inspector?"

"You recognized me." Inspector Fenris said. He sounded surprised. The rest of the workers stiffened in shock. Or fear. The title of Inspector wasn't something to take lightly, it seemed. 

"Not many elves in Kirkwall's Guard. My memory may be slipping, but it hasn't gone yet." Samson joked, standing up from his seat and approaching the Inspector. "And if you're here, Inspector, you must be here to talk." 

"Did you have any contact with a Basil Beauchamp?" Inspector Fenris asked. He escorted Samson to an empty chair at the table Anders was sitting at. He gave Anders a look that clearly indicated that he wanted Anders to leave, but Anders ignored the Inspector. 

"Sure, I knew Basil. Templar from Val Royeaux. Surprisingly laid back man for an Orlesian. Retired a while back, but visits Kirkwall from time to time." Samson chuckled, as if he was recalling pleasant memories. "I haven't heard from him in a while, however." 

"He's dead. Lyrium overdose." Anders said bluntly. "Lyrium traced with orichalcum." 

Their table fell silent as Samson took in the news. 

"Damn." Samson said lowly. "That's... you're certain about that? Basil was trying to break free of lyrium use. Preached about it often enough. Wanted to put me in a clinic, the big-hearted idiot." He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders shuddering slightly. 

"We're looking for the supplier he might have used." Inspector Fenris pressed on. "Do you know where Messere Beauchamp may have purchased his lyrium?" 

"No, he wouldn't have-" Samson shook his head. "He wouldn't support smugglers. Basil wouldn't use anything but Chantry regulated lyrium. He would have viewed anything else as feeding lyrium smuggling and addiction." 

"Chantry lyrium." Anders mused. "I've heard it's impossible to get a hold of, if you aren't an active Templar." 

"Not impossible." Samson said quietly. "Just difficult. And it comes with a few too many strings." 

"Tell me." Inspector Fenris demanded. And Samson did. 

"There's a Chantry outpost in Darktown. Ask for a Sister Petrice. She gives out lyrium to those who make donations." Samson snorted. "Donations most can't afford, but somehow she makes enough to continue the practice." 

"Interesting, that she's still operating." Fenris remarked. "Wouldn't she be competing with the smugglers? Wouldn't they want to get rid of such competition?" 

"No one is going to rub out a Chantry sister." Anders muttered. "Especially in this city. Andraste's Tits, it's probably sanctioned by the Grand Cleric herself!" 

Samson laughed at that, long and loud, a raspy, coughing sound that rattled in his chest. His shoulders shook with mirth, and the deep lines of age seemed to melt away. For a brief moment, Anders could see the man Samson was before addiction and hardship transformed him into the sickly being he was now. 

"You may be right!" Samson finally said once his laughter died. "Elthina would rather let her flock commit crimes in the shadows than make waves by exposing them. You'll find no help from her, that's for certain." 

"If I give you some money for a _donation_ , would you purchase a vial?" Anders asked, reaching into his coat pocket for a few sovereigns. Samson's expression warred between hunger and sorrow. "Don't take any for yourself. It may be poisoned."

"I'll do what I can." Samson finally said, closing his hand around the coins Anders offered. He stood up from the table. "I'll drop it off at your guard station tomorrow evening, Inspector." With that Samson left the table and took his seat with the dock workers. Inspector Fenris frowned, his dark brows wrinkling in distaste. 

"I should arrest you for soliciting illegal lyrium. And him for accepting the contract." He muttered. Anders rolled his eyes. That sounded like something Justice would complain about. 

"It's bait to catch a bigger fish, Inspector." Anders replied. "We'll figure out if it's a match, you'll make your arrest, and Samson here can disappear into the mists after assisting us."

"Wonderful." Inspector Fenris grumbled. Anders ignored him, and flagged Isabela down. He was very thirsty, and could use a pint of ale. 

-

Samson was true to his word. The lyrium was deposited at Inspector Fenris's Guard station the next evening, right after sunset. Anders got a call from the station from Guardsman Carver Hawke, and departed straight away. He dressed for function, not fashion, slipping into a plain dark trousers, white shirt, and green suspenders. There was little point in dressing up in his best clothes when he was going to work on analyzing and comparing lyrium potions all night. Lyrium stains were difficult to remove. He took a taxi from the hotel to the station, and was greeted by both Guardsman Hawke and Inspector Fenris. 

"Good evening, Warden Anders." Inspector Fenris greeted Anders cordially.

"Evening, Inspector. Guardsman. If you'll escort me to your lab, I'll take a look at that lyrium sample." Anders said politely. All business seemed to be the best way to interact with Inspector Fenris. 

"If you would follow me, then." Inspector Fenris led him down the hall to the left, then down a set of stairs. Guardsman Hawke pulled a key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the small door on his right before opening it up and ushering Anders through. 

"Here's the lyrium sample Samson retrieved." Inspector Fenris gestured to the sturdy table crowded with chemistry equipment. A small bottle filled with bright, glowing blue liquid sat in the cleared off center of the table. An empty bottle was placed next to it. On closer inspection Anders saw a faint residue lining the bottom of the bottle. That was probably the bottle found near Messere Beauchamp. The third item was a small stack of papers. The coroner and toxicology report. Anders picked it up and thumbed through it, analyzing each note the doctor, a Miss Morrigan, made on the body. Familiar name, Anders mused as he read the woman's spidery handwriting. 

_Strain and tear on muscles in right shoulder and the back. How many years as a Templar?_

_Blue tinge to fingernails, under eyes, on lips, and in the mouth. Drinking lyrium to satisfy cravings?_

_Needle scars and fresh punctures on right arm. Shot up and drank lyrium?_

_Lyrium can be used for pain relief. Elfroot much safer and more effective. Lyrium plus orichalcum- used for pleasure? Orichalcum infamous as an aphrodisiac._

_Enough lyrium to kill a druffalo. Obviously tampered with. Murder likely._

_Ask the village idiot about lyrium addiction and Templars. He may know something._

Anders flipped to the next page and scanned the toxicology report. Lyrium and orichalcum, just like he suspected and Miss Morrigan's report confirmed. It was even mixed in a one to three ratio. Deadly, and practically invisible on first glance. The orichalcum took on the same appearance as the lyrium when mixed together. Anders pulled out a long handled pair of tweezers and scrapped the residue at the bottom of the bottle. When he amassed enough residue, Anders carefully poured it out into a petri dish. He'd analyze the compounds next. 

"I don't see why we couldn't ask Bodahn and Sandal to take a look at the evidence." Guardsman Carver Hawke said with what Anders assumed was the young man's typical sullenness.

"A Warden mage healer will have better insight on lyrium use than a dwarven tradesman and his craftsman son." Inspector Fenris said calmly. "Do you require anything else, Warden Anders?" 

"Turn on the burner for me, will you?" Anders asked distractedly, and when Carver shuffled about the room searching for said burner, Anders sighed. "Never mind, I'll manage." He pulled on his magic, tugging at bits of the Fade, and summoned a flame to his fingertips. He let the flame hang in the air and tugged on a pair of thick leather gloves to protect himself. Then Anders held the dish over the flame with one hand. With the other he reached for a dropper.

"Water. Please." Anders demanded. Someone handed him a glass of water, and Anders took a few drops from it so he could mix it with the powder. He just needed the lyrium and orichalcum to crystallize. Then he could figure out the set amounts of lyrium to orichalcum and match it, if they had a match. 

"Pour some of the lyrium Samson collected in another dish." Anders ordered, and someone did. Anders set the now crystallized lyrium down and grabbed the other dish, slowly evaporating the moisture in the potion. He was grateful the lab seemed well ventilated. Even this little amount of lyrium could make those present dizzy. The second dish of lyrium crystallized, and Anders set it down before letting the flame he summoned wink out of existence. With that done, Anders took a closer look at the dishes. 

"They're identical." Inspector Fenris breathed over Anders's shoulder. "An exact match." It was a match, a distribution of pale blue crystals mixed with a larger collection of white crystals, roughly one part lyrium to three parts orichalcum. 

"It's the same type of lyrium, mixed with orichalcum, enhancing the lyrium until it overpowers the body and shuts it down." Anders surmised as he took off his gloves. "I suppose you'll be making an arrest then? Goodbye Sister Petrice?" 

"We will make our inquiries. It is all we can do, Warden Anders." The Inspector replied blandly. His handsome, angular face showed no emotion, but his green eyes gleamed with the desire to hunt. Anders knew that expression well. He was a Warden. A lapsed Warden away from his keep, but still a Warden. All Wardens were hunters. Like recognized like. 

"Guardsman Hawke, if you would escort Warden Anders to the front?" The Inspector continued. "Then get into the car, we have to make a visit to Darktown." 

"Good luck, Inspector." Anders called out as he let Carver Hawke lead him up the stairs and into the lobby. Inspector Fenris did not reply, and Carver Hawke was silent and sullen until after Anders called for the taxi to pick him up and deposit him at the hotel. 

"I... want to say thank you, Warden Anders." Carver mumbled. "For helping my sister. Bethany is... she's important to all my family." Anders took a closer look at the young man, who shuffled from one foot to the other, his clean shaven face bright red. He refused to meet Anders's eyes. It was rather sweet, how he tried to appear so tough. Anders smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Carver wasn't so terrible, once you got to know him. 

"Let me know if she, or anyone you know, might need help again. I still have contacts in the city, should you need them." Anders said kindly. "She's a good girl." 

"I'll let you know, Warden Anders. If you'll excuse me." Carver gave him an awkward tilt of the head before hustling away down the stairs. Anders waited for the cab to pull up to the curb before he left the station and climbed into the back of the taxi. He stared out the window on the drive to the hotel. 

He certainly didn't expect much more to come from this case. Messere Beauchamp's death would be classified as an accidental overdose. The Chantry sister would be given a slap on the wrist for distributing poisoned lyrium. Maybe she'd be forced to recite the Chant of Light for a month or so before resuming her duties. Bethany Hawke would be monitored by Templars for months, possibly years, for being a mage in a household where someone happened to die. Nothing would change. This city was terrible. Anders sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the car window. He wished Karl was here. Karl would give him a cup of tea with a bit of honey and lemon and tell him that the world wasn't as bad as it seemed. 

"Two silvers, Ser." The dwarven woman driving the cab grinned and held out one broad hand. Anders handed over three silvers before he exited as a thank you for letting him sit in silence and think. He climbed up the stairs and quietly walked through the hotel, passing a few workers before reaching his room. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking the door behind him before stepping forward into the dark room. Something crinkled underfoot, and Anders reached back and flipped on the electric lights. 

They were letters. Two letters. Anders bent down and retrieved them from the ground, carefully reading the sender's addresses. One was from Amaranthine, and the handwriting was obviously the Warden Commander. Cousland's rough strokes looked like he wielded the pen the way he would wield a weapon- brutal and efficient, with no added flourishes. The second letter was a neatly printed notice from the Kirkwall Templars. Anders flopped down on the couch and opened Cousland's letter. 

_Warden Anders,_

__Received information that you ran off to Kirkwall while I was away. Nathaniel was very explicit. Also received letter from Kirkwall's Knight Commander demanding your paperwork. Told her it was Warden business. Search some Deep Roads tunnels while you're there to keep her off your back. I'll ask Alistair for a favor if you need it. Your paperwork will be along shortly, provided you don't move again. Expect trouble, Anders._ _

__

_Warden Commander Cousland_

__

Anders read over the note several times, surprised that Cousland wasn't berating him for leaving without a word. Then again, Cousland was a bit strange. He wasn't particularly controlling or demanding off the battlefield. He didn't even seem to mind when his lover disappeared for months on end before reappearing into his life again. Anders remembered asking about it once, his heart and mind still full of Karl and grief. Cousland shrugged one massive shoulder and cryptically said he wouldn't clip any wings. If Warden Commander Cousland was willing to cover for Anders, Anders wasn't about to dispute it. 

__

Anders turned his attention to the next letter. Typed on a type writer, on cheap paper. Anders debated destroying it, but it was stamped with the flaming Sword of Andraste, so it might be sacrilege to burn it. Anders tore the envelope open and scanned the letter. 

__

_To Warden Anders, former graduate of Kinloch Preparatory Academy for Mages,_

__

__It has come to our attention that you, possessing the abilities and knowledge of magic craft, have entered and are abiding in the city state of Kirkwall. As a mage, you must register your presence with the Chantry Circle and send the Templar Order your paperwork. Once sent, you will be issued a Residential Mage Permit, proving you have passed preliminary inspections and may reside in Kirkwall for the duration of your stay. If your have any more inquiries, contact the Chantry Board in Hightown, 2nd Street, for further information._ _

____

_Meredith Stannard, Knight Commander of Kirkwall_

____

Anders scanned the letter one final time, made a final note of the particulars, and set it aflame, collecting the ashes in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. He sighed and stood up to look out the window. 

____

The moon was rising over the jagged buildings and cliffs of Kirkwall. It glimmered over the bay, transforming the dark water into a sea of silver mirroring a sea of stars. At moments like this, Kirkwall could be beautiful. But then Anders thought of the blood and hardship, the pain and suffering, that seemed to ooze through Kirkwall like a living slime. Like a poisonous miasma. The entire city was evil. The entire city was cursed. 

____

-

____

Anders was visiting Justice the next grey, drab, damp morning when he heard news about the case in the form of a visit from Varric Tethras. It was as Anders expected the night before. Basil Beauchamp's death was officially declared an accidental overdose from illegally obtained lyrium. The body would be shipped off to Orlais by the end of the week. Bethany Hawke was not in legal custody, but Templars dropped by the Hawke estate to call on the young woman. Garrett Hawke was busy using his influence and some of his wealth to protect his sister, but it seemed that it could only do so much. The Chantry closed down Sister Petrice's Lowtown Chantry outpost, but no arrests had been made. No arrests would be made. Anders knew it. 

____

"So nothing can be done." Justice concluded. 

____

"Sure seems that way, Smiles." Varric replied. "Elthina will keep everything hush hush with Meredith's support." 

____

"And no one will question the sudden Templar interest in Bethany Hawke?" Anders asked. 

____

"They'll be too afraid to breath a word." Varric said. "Meredith's been waiting for a chance to investigate the Hawke family. This is the best chance she has." 

____

"Wonderful." Anders grumbled. "Just like a Templar." Anders sat up from his seat and put his coat on. 

____

"I'll be heading out now." Anders told the room. Varric waved a farewell. Justice frowned but let Anders go. Anders hurried down the stairs and began walking down the sidewalk. He didn't care where he walked. He just had to get away. 

____

He didn't know how he found himself in the Pleasant Bay Graveyard, but Anders had. He never intended to go back here, not really. But his feet led him down winding paths, between headstones and trees, through long grass and a few fellow mourners. He finally reached his destination and sat down. The sky was still grey, fat with the promise of rain. 

____

The stone in front of him was a plain pale grey, a small, humble stone for a humble man. Karl Thekla. 9:24 Electric to 4:49 Electric. A good soul never wanders from the Maker's side. A broken Circle torc was carved into the stone instead of the typical Chantry sunburst. Anders couldn't bear the thought of that dark, oppressive symbol burnt into Karl's forehead being carved into his headstone as well. Let him be something he never could be in life. Let Karl be _free_. 

____

"I didn't mean to come back." Anders addressed the grave. "There's nothing for me here in this city, with you gone." 

____

The breeze rustled the grass around him and the leaves up above. 

____

"But I am more skilled with magic, now. Smarter too. And I have more friends in high places, and the money to spend." Anders continued. "I can come back now, you see, because I can stay. I can see this to the end." 

____

Anders twisted around so he could press his palm to the gravestone, his fingers tracing out Karl's name. 

____

"I will find your killers, Karl." Anders murmured. "It won't be long, I promise." 

____

No matter the sacrifices, no matter what he had to endure, Anders would find the people who killed Karl Thekla. He would root out those who made him suffer. And if he could prevent what happened to Karl from happening to anyone else, then it would be an action worthy of Karl's memory. 

____

It all started with murder. Anders would see it end with justice.

____

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, and/or writing comments! This story was especially fun to write (so many elaborate outfits for Anders!), and I look forward to writing more of this universe!


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